The Nation of Poets: January 2014

Monday, January 13, 2014

The Story That Wrinkles Tell

My gray hair makes men listen.
And when people stare, I wonder
if they are reading the stories of my wrinkles.
While every step tells us heaven is at the feet
of the mother
the distance between the feet and the lips
becomes the longest to travel.
My feet traveled here
to a empty hut hemmed in by parched acacia
with skinny white goats and red sand.
In this hut, I once told my daughter
things would be easier for her if she didn’t step out of line.
I sat in this hut, hiding from the rumor that was real
when my husband married another wife.
She is the age of our daughter.
Our daughter’s daughter looks over the fence
and sees little boys playing. She wants to be a child
and play also.
That is the story of my wrinkles. - Nimo H. Farah

Cosmic Motion

I want to make love to you my African queen under the open African night, whilst embers from our fire wood lights the dark starry African sky,

The rhythmic African drum beat sensually plays in the distant background, the African beat throws us into a cosmic motion,

As our rhythmically dancing silhouettes become one in the pale moon light and we cause the earth to seismic under us,

Our thunderous wrestle and tussle beings to resemble that of the lion and the gazelle, as I bite into your neck and you hold on to my mane while feeling my weight,

Our eclipsing climax causes me to roar into the night and throws your body to shake and convulse,

Your embrace gets ever so tight, it leads to your nails digging into my flesh as your eyes get dazzled and bedazzled by the shooting stars above and I become one with them in unison as I too, shoot,

Like the still and calm waters of a lake our bodies become still, as the cool pleasant african breeze glides over us and lulls our conjoined bodies to serenity.

Aj Berbera

Thursday, January 9, 2014

UNJUSTLY A WOMAN

Tell me, why do they want be to be softer

Quieter

Calmer?

Do they not know that I surf storms in my sleep?

Do they not think that I dare to dream

Of a destiny

that you have set me?

Tell me, why do they find me intimidating

Opinionated

Abrasive?

Do they not know that I run the race for my rights?

Do they not think that I long to lead

A legacy

that you have set me?

Tell me, why must they see me as blunt

Bossy

Bitchy?

Why can’t they see me as bold

Brave

Brainy?

Or am I not eligible for such attributes

Am I simply not privileged?

Oh how unfortunate that I was born a woman!

Unfortunately, I’m just a woman.

And the only other option I have is to be more than a woman

And that makes me not quite like a woman.

But I’m just a woman.

Unjustly, a woman.

Hamdi Khalif

Cosmic Motion

I want to make love to you my African queen under the open African night, whilst embers from our fire wood lights the dark starry African sky,

The rhythmic African drum beat sensually plays in the distant background, the African beat throws us into a cosmic motion,

As our rhythmically dancing silhouettes become one in the pale moon light and we cause the earth to seismic under us,

Our thunderous wrestle and tussle beings to resemble that of the lion and the gazelle, as I bite into your neck and you hold on to my mane while feeling my weight,

Our eclipsing climax causes me to roar into the night and throws your body to shake and convulse,

Your embrace gets ever so tight, it leads to your nails digging into my flesh as your eyes get dazzled and bedazzled by the shooting stars above and I become one with them in unison as I too, shoot,

Like the still and calm waters of a lake our bodies become still, as the cool pleasant african breeze glides over us and lulls our conjoined bodies to serenity.

Aj Berbera

Wednesday, January 8, 2014

Poet of the Week: Sam Said

Would you please introduce yourself to the readers?

I am Samra and I live in London. I am charity aid worker for humanitarian causes. I am originally from Hargeisa.

When did you first start writing poetry and was there any particular incidents in your life that inspired you to write?

I wrote prose and poems from young age but never kept them in any journals, I think back in 2010 I first uploaded my poems on Facebook and in particular to Somali Writers and nation of poets page. I took part in the Ramadan competition and my "Troubled Soul" won the competition. It was later published on Scarf magazine. The inspiration to continue writing stemmed from that point onwards.

What does "being creative" mean to you?

I believe we are all creative human beings , we just need to reach deep within us and discover our abilities, be it in writing or sketching or knitting, or anything you set your mind to do.

What do you try to communicate with your poetry?

My poems translates my thoughts that are hidden somewhere on my mind to an online theatre production where there are no cast but an interactive audience that I seek their critical feedback before their applause. They mainly communicate healing process, grief and love on it's simplest terms. They are spiritual in nature and at time philosophical.

How do you find the motivation after a hiatus?

I write for me because I love what I do.

What is your writing process? Do you sit and think through every word of every stanza or do you just write freely and allow the words to flow?

I write most of my poems during my train journey, in Piccadilly line. I write free verses that stems from a thought or short lines.

Who are some of your favorite poets?

My writing are influenced by Arabic literature,my favourite poets are Mahmoud Darwish , Ahmed Mattar, and contemporary one are Tamim AlBargothi. Most recently been blessed to get access to the translated work of Hadraawi and Gaarriye, so their work bring my Somali voice to life.

What advice do you have for aspiring poets? Any word of advice for closet poets?

Accept affirmation and reach out to the creative soul within you

What does writing poetry do for you?

It enables me to use my free time wisely.

Anything else you would like to share?

I am still learning, drafting and reaching.

Father

Artist: Ahmed Yoses

For ten years I have mourned your absence.

Since your soul have ascended into His Mercy,

Each second of each day rebirths the memory of my grief.

Yes, I deserve to see you in my dreams.

My hands can kiss your chest,

Pump life into your heart

I will exhale all of me in prayers, until

In rescuing you

I rescue me

Sam Said

Women Who Fly

My mother wants more for me

than she’s ever had.

She was pressured to say „yes‟;

to use her hips that were not yet developed

before her lips were formed enough to say „no‟.

My mother sends me to a school

she cannot afford.

My hand is raised, my arm stretched.

I want to say “Call on me.

I want to tell you about the courage of my mother.”

My mother has flat feet, forcing her heels

that know no shoes to walk to her parents home

in the village where she was born.

To find them before death finds them,

and say, “I forgive you.”

Her pain gives her wisdom

and her wisdom gives us both wings.

Nimo H. Farah

I am restless about you

What's my relation with you o stranger?

You've become one of my own

When I look into your eyes deeply

They tell me a story similar like mine.

Why do I've to stay awake late at night?

Having no idea who I'm thinking of.

Is this is how the heart falls for someone unknown?

Why do I smile in my dreams looking for you yet, seem lost during daylight?

My heart has no one to lean on besides you my love, it has become loyal for you and only you.

I gave up on my ego and don't feel angry, I'm lost in your thoughts indefinitely.

I have become restless, there's instant feeling of longing the more I try to hide thee more its visible in my eyes.

The reality is mesmerizing that we've became one now I only see us reaching greater heights together.

Ahmed Abdi

Hadraawi in poem & painting

Painting by Ahmed Yoses

A man of principles who

the sun, the moon, the rivers that flow,

the magical nature, the heartbeat, and loyalty

all bare witness to his words. Even

beauty in his presence testify to

feeling beautiful, and adjectives

are numb as new words ought to be invented

for this Somali Shakespearian, this artist with an

imagination above all the imagination. But

I was sure when I meet him, that I will recite

a line of his most famous poem.

Baladweyn, or maybe sing

Has love been blood-written

or read him, his wonderful storytelling about

lions, jackals and hyena

Or dissolve myself into ink, so I am

wrapped up into his writing, or turn into tree in his

name, or become his hat

keeping his winter hair warm or let his echo voice

speak for me, can he read the language behind my eye lids?

If anything I would adhere to hand shake etiquette

I couldn’t decide how to shake, firm shake or a quick grasp

or what is the culture take on legend embrace?

I did nothing

I said nothing

I swallowed my memorised script and a friend

with her courageous tongue said,

She is a fan of your, you know!

Breaking the silence

He listened to her as if listening can obey,

and spoke in a way that gave humbleness a new value,

and with tenderness behind his jasmine age,

with all the emblematical metaphor a man of his status can master,

he recited a prayer – I will wake up in the middle of the night, and

pray for you in a way I have never prayed before

I stayed there in that line until we exchanged amen and for once

I was in love with everything again

Sam Said

I am Somali

I am Somali and I am proud, for I am the unconquered and the unconquerable,

I am Somali and I am a king among kings in a kingdom of kings,

I am Somali and I have rules but are never ruled,

I bow, bend nor kneel before any king, emperor or false god except to Allah the most high,

I am Somali and I am my brothers keeper for after God my kinsmen come second,

Many a men and nations befell to my spear of pride,

I am the product of the land to which my forefathers were born, bred, bled and buried,

I am Somali, the one endowed with the traditions and customs of his ancestors,

I lay my head on the lap of my mother, Earth. As my sight is cast upon the constellations that once guided the ones buried beneath,

I am Somali a simple nomad with piercing eyes, keen intellect, straight back and of towering hight,

While kings, emperors and men of past left stupendous monuments for all to see,

My noble forbears of past left me as their living and breathing monumental gift to the world,

I am Somali and there is none like me.

Aj Berbera

Daddy

My father is a brilliant man

His mind is always twenty steps ahead

If you ask him a question he knows the answer

He is like google search

His confidence is unshakable

A man's man

He does not have any jokes

Since he is always serious

But he does have the cutest laugh

When you tell him the right words

He is one that will rescue you at three am

Since he has a million ways to help you

He has a million things to teach if you bring him a cup of coffee with no sugar

Pick any topic

Science, History, Engineering, or Philosophy

His love of learning never stopped after graduation

I love our weekend conversations

Even if other people are also waiting to ask him a question

He will tell the people waiting to meet with him to wait

His number one daughter is on the phone

Sindiya Darman

Hajj

I long for Hajj

For my sins to be erased

For a rebirth from my mother’s womb

Just as the paradise stone

Whiter than milk

Testifying with its eyes and tongue

That my simple touch

Was true and sincere

Sam Said

Petals

Now a golden petal,

Just look at who I have become.

I'd like to believe I am true, strong and loving.

As a woman, I have achieved much.

The first being deflecting the sun.

Can I be unfolded, deciphered or even understood?

An ember in my day, I saw inspirational women as vibrant and as electric as a earthquakes heartbeat.

Nevertheless, under a constant cover of fireflies, and thick air, did you know my heart can still shine brighter than a kaleidoscope recurring dream?

That I am a boomerang,

flung into this eccentric life with colour and pace?

Though quietly observant, inside I scathingly search for intelligent conversation with other flowers. Even wallflowers.

So, if I live in a world of fear,

May I be brave!

Let me kindly ask for someone to be my eyes when I cannot see and hold my head up when I cannot glide.

Be the flower my springtime requests and the snow my winter dreams of.

Like a dandelion petal, I float, searching for a delicate soul with a colourful spirit who is able to grow accordingly.

For we all know flowers represent the secrets of hard graft.

So please may there be fields of gold, daffodils, tulips and of course roses....

If this life is full of grievances,

surely we will overcome through the beauty of nature.

Let us speak in old English,

Laugh and be merry,

And forever see the sparks in others eyes.

Let the sun burn our skin and let water devour us.

Let us look up to those with loving hearts and decipher our inner Kings and Queens.

No doubt flailing flowers taught us how to pray,

And as we grew those flowers changed.

But as small as gardeners look to trees as they blossom,

Our parents are becoming overshadowed by branches.

Day by day, we bloom into computers and books who think we know more than the hands that raised us.

We forget that like flowers, without rain and sun, we did not grow without effort and care.

We are petals, soon ready to fall away, but together we are a beautiful gift.

Idman Omar